Page 1 of Always My Fate

Chapter One

Blackie, also known by his government name of Kirk Langdon, leaned back in his chair at the head of the scarred table in the Longview clubhouse. He had one booted foot propped on the edge like he owned the goddamn world—which, from every viewpoint in this room, he did. The meeting had dragged on longer than he liked, but that was the price of getting the Belle fledgling chapter transition locked down tight. His phone sat face-up on the table, screen dark for the moment, but he kept glancing at it anyway. His ole lady, Peaches, had been quiet this morning, and that never sat right in his gut.

“Duane, you make sure Horse has the updated roster and the supply routes nailed down and organized,” he barked, voice rough as gravel. “I don’t want any half-assed movements rolling between here and Belle. We transfer clean, we transfer smart, or we don’t move at all. I know we’ve just patched over a few fellas to fill out the ranks there, but I want you to tell him if he needs more bodies for the first month, we’ll float an additional couple prospects his way.” He shook his head. “Fuck, Duane, I’m gonna miss your ass around here.”

Duane nodded, scribbling a note on the pad in front of him. “Got it, Prez. Oaky could run a truck down next week if the inventory numbers look off.” He grinned. “I’m getting used to the VP tag, boss. Unexpected, but I’m honored to serve.”

Oaky grunted in agreement from his spot along the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. The prospect standing near the door like he was trying to disappear into the woodwork was some wide-eyed kid they’d been breaking in for the last three months. Hopefully he’d earn his patch soon, because he might look tender, but he’d been seasoned within another club until last year.

Blackie’s gaze flicked to his phone again. Still nothing. He dragged a hand down his beard, then pointed a thick finger at the prospect. “You. What’s your name again?”

“Derek, sir—uh, President.”

“Jesus fuck, kid. Don’t ‘sir’ me unless you’re lookin’ to polish my boots with your tongue. Listen up.” Blackie leaned forwards, elbows on the table. “You’re riding support on the next run to Belle. Stick close to Horse and Duane, and you keep your mouth shut unless someone asks you a direct question, and for fuck’s sake, don’t start any nonsense with the locals. We’re building something solid down there, not pissing in the well.”

The kid bobbed his head so fast Blackie almost laughed. Almost.

A brisk knock pounded at the door, quickly pulled open by the prospect. The first thing that entered the room was the volume of an argument in the main room. Blackie tipped his head to one side, listening, giving Rook, his SAA here at the Mother Chapter, a two-finger wave as he walked in.

“Leave that open a minute,” he instructed the prospect, who yanked back his hand as if burned.

A loud argument was taking place in the main room. He recognized the voices of two hangarounds as they bickered over some trivial shit about who’d gotten the last cold beer the night before. Blackie’s head snapped around, eyes narrowing.

“Oi! If you two shit-for-brains want to keep flapping your gums—”His volume canceled out anything they might have said. “—then you might wanna remember what standing you have in my club. Which happens to be zero. Z-E-R-O. Got it?” He slammed a palm on the table, the sound cracking like a gunshot. The arguing was gone completely now, and he gave a nod to the prospect. “Go ahead and shut us up in here again. Alla y’all know I got a pregnant old lady at home who’s probably sick of my ass being gone, and those posers are in our house arguing about fuckin’ beer? Next time we need to have a member step up and tell them to shut their stinkin’ pie holes before I come over there and staple ’em closed myself.” He gestured at the prospect again. “Open it back up.” He paused while the door was reopened. “Oi, hangarounds, get where you can fuckin’ see me, yeah? This is club business, not a damned daycare. If anyone’s got a problem, you need to take it outside and settle it like men, or you keep it to your damn selves. Clear?”

The two men walked into view, then each mumbled a quick “Yes, Prez” before slinking towards the bar like scolded dogs.

Blackie shook his head, muttering, “Goddamn children,” under his breath. “Close it up again, prospect. Good door work.” His eyes dropped to the phone again. Still dark. He picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen, debating whether to shoot Peaches a quick text just to check in.

Duane caught his eye and gave him a knowing smirk. “She got you on a short leash today, brother?”

“Fuck you,” Blackie shot back without heat, the corner of his mouth twitching. “You wait until Sharon’s carryin’ your kid, much less your sixth one. See how focused you stay on anything else.” He shoved the phone into his pocket and stood, signaling the meeting was done. “All right. Open the fuckin’ door again, Derek. Everyone should be on the same page here, because there’s zero room for fuckery, and I shouldn’t have to spell out the word twice in one meeting. We’re rolling out on this Belle transition clean and tight. I want daily updates from a single source, sort who that’ll be amongst yourselves, and if anything smells even a little off with those MDMC ghosts still floating around, you bring it straight to me. No hero bullshit. We protect what’s ours.”

He clapped Duane on the shoulder as the men started filing out, then glanced out at the two hangarounds, who appeared to be buying shots for every member.

As it should be.

Time to get home to his woman.

***

Blackie killed the engine in front of the house and sat on the bike for a second, letting the quiet settle over him. The short ride home had done nothing to ease the knot in his chest. He swung off, boots crunching on the gravel as he made his way to the steps.

The house was dim and quiet when he stepped inside. He toed off his boots by the door and padded through the living room, following the soft glow of the lamp in the bedroom. Peaches was stretched out on their bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. Her eyes were closed, but the tension in her shoulders told him she wasn’t fully asleep.

He paused in the doorway, just watching her. Charlotte Langdon, the only woman he’d ever loved. He’d never get over how his heart gave an extra beat when he saw her this way. Fuck, she was beautiful. Even tired and round with his kid, she still left him breathless.

“Peaches,” he said softly, crossing the room.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a slow smile curved her lips. “Hey, baby. You’re home early.”

“Couldn’t stand being away any longer.” He sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “How you feelin’? You look like you could use some of my attention.”

She shifted with a small sigh. “Back’s been killing me again. This little one is sitting right on my spine today.”

Blackie didn’t hesitate. He moved behind her, gently helping her roll onto her side before his big hands settled on her lower back. His thumbs pressed in firm, slow circles, working the tight muscles with practiced care. “That better, darlin’?”

“Mmm. God, yes.” She melted under his touch, a soft moan slipping out that went straight to his cock. “You’ve got magic hands, Blackie.”